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mychoombatheroomba · 1 month

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Nine Names

Disavowed (Krauser x GN! Reader/Krauser x Leon) - Chapter 1

Maybe he did wish that you were with him, if only to have someone he trusted with him as he did this. It would have been nice, Krauser thought, to die alongside someone like that. Someone who understood.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

This is a spin-off of my Leon x Reader series, Between the Bones! It will switch back and forth between Operation Javier and Krauser's perspective on some things from the main story! This can be read in isolation though! Lots of unrequited love from Jack in this, and, well, we all know how his story ends anyway.

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Chapter Index

June 29th, 2002

10:52

Mixcóatl, Amazon Rainforest

There would be noise, but it would be fast. Making it quick was the least he could do. It would be fast, but that didn’t make the sight before him any easier to stomach. Resigned eyes peering up at him from down the barrel of a gun. A single nod. Acceptance washing over paling features as those eyes closed. The tension of the trigger against his finger.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had to do this.

Hell, it wasn’t even the first time in the last twenty-four hours.

Didn’t make it any easier.

Still, he pulled the trigger because it’s what he needed to do. It’s what had to happen. It was that or watch another of his men lose their mind, become a threat. It wasn’t for fear of his own safety that he squeezed that trigger, but to spare the man standing in front of him that fate. Barnes deserved better than to turn into a mindless drone, a shell of the man he’d been. He deserved better. All of them did. The Major knew, though, it wasn’t about what he or anyone else deserved.

So, with a bang that startled some nearby birds into flight, he did what needed to be done. There was the smell of blood and gunpowder, the sound of a body hitting the damp ground, and with that, Jack Krauser was alone.

He hadn’t been alone two weeks ago, when he’d come to Mixcóatl under the cover of darkness, his men locked and loaded at his side. Ten of them, Krauser included. Nine of the best and brightest soldiers that Krauser had served with before, some that he’d trained. Men and women whose skill he hadn’t doubted for a moment, when they’d been given a name and a kill order.

Men and women who might still be alive, if things had been different.

It was hard not to think of those what-ifs, as Krauser looked down at the last of his men’s still body, as he lowered his gun. He’d never been one to entertain fantasies - seeing anything other than reality had always been a good way to end up dead, in his book. He was as good as dead anyway though, wasn’t he?

If the intel had been better . . .

If they’d known what they were being sent into . . .

If they hadn’t been stuck in a jungle with no way out . . .

If they hadn’t been behind the lines of a foreign country . . .

If they weren’t living in a world where war now meant soldiers turning into mindless monsters . . .

If his evac request had been approved . . .

But that wasn’t the hand he’d been dealt. So, he ignored the tremor in his hand. Knelt at Barnes’ side and rested the soldier’s hands over his chest. Best that Krauser could do. No dog tag to take. There would be no retrieval of the body, Krauser knew that, and there could be no evidence that they were here. Hadn't started out that way, but if the government wouldn't send evac? That meant something had changed behind the scenes, that this had been moved off the books. No names, no traces. Plausible deniability. That had been the game for years now, a game he hadn’t wanted to play, but learned to anyway. Whatever the sacrifices.

Not the first comrade he’d had to put down, not the first set of dog tags taken to keep a secret.

He could still remember the look in your eyes when he’d handed you that spare tag, one with the name of a man you’d cared for deeply.

Krauser wasn’t surprised to be thinking of you, now. Who better to let his thoughts drift towards? You, who had lived the exact moment he’d just lived dozens of times; staring down the barrel at someone you’d known. Cared for. Someone you’d had to kill. You, who’d worn that extra dog tag even if it wasn’t yours, even if you thought that Krauser hadn’t noticed. You’d carried that kill with you in the form of a silver ghost, just as Krauser carried his with him, now. Because even if their deaths would be twisted to keep a secret, they deserved to be remembered.

Nine pairs of names.

At least yours wasn’t among them.

Then again, maybe things would have been different if you’d been here, too. You were a survivor. Always had been, even before Krauser’s training sharpened you into the blade you’d become. Maybe if you’d been here with him, you’d have been able to help him keep the others alive.

Or maybe you’d be dead, too.

No. Better that you weren’t with him. Better that your name wouldn’t be on Krauser’s conscience, because the thought of that . . .

He shouldn’t think of you. He’d learned that early on, years before this moment. Thinking of you was dangerous; a distraction. Don’t be stupid because it feels good. He’d told you that, once, and he’d been good at heeding his own advice.

But if he was as good as dead anyway . . .

Had this been how you’d felt? Krauser had always felt he understood what it was you’d experienced, all those years ago. He’d always been so sure that his experience in war had given him equal footing with you. Loss was a part of war, and he’d thought he understood why you’d moped around base so often, or why you’d pushed yourself to be the best.

Krauser hadn’t known a damn thing.

Now, he did.

He understood what it was to feel the terror of seeing one’s own turn. He knew what it was to feel the truth settle in his gut that just one bite, one scratch, was all it took to doom someone. He understood how eviscerating it was to watch the color drain from their skin, the light fade from their eyes. He knew the utter fucking hopelessness that came with being unable to stop it. The realization that you were the only one left that was enough to make the world seem ready to cave in.

He understood why you’d kept your Captain’s dog tag with you through it all - the training, the missions, all of it.

And he understood, perhaps better than anything else, the anger that he’d seen in you. Rage at the fate that had befallen your comrades. Fury at the people who caused it all.

Or, in Krauser’s case, person. One name to answer for nine.

Javier Hidalgo.

The same person he and his men had been sent to kill. War-lord head of the Sacred Snakes cartel, smuggler with connections to Umbrella, and the least lucky man on the fucking planet right now, because Jack Krauser was still alive. He was alone, behind enemy lines and outnumbered, but he was alive.

The Major may have been at the end of his rope, but he could still hang Javier from it.

That was the thought that kept the pistol in Krauser’s hands from finding his mouth and turning skywards. That was the thought that pushed him on through the jungle, leaving Barnes’ body behind. His men would want him to keep going. You would want him to keep going.

So he did, letting that burning and clawing in his chest carry him forward.

He moved through the trees as silently as he could, looking like little more than a shadow in dim light painted by the canopy overhead. Enough time spent learning that the fauna in the jungle was just as deadly as the once-people that had dealt his squad so much death made him quiet as he moved on. He knew how to leave as little trace as possible, how to move unseen. The camo of mud he’d adopted kept his normally pale hair and skin from standing out amidst the foliage, and his eyes scanned the rainforest around him. Watching. Waiting. Anticipating.

Give me your best.

This old dog would taste blood one last time. He’d fight his way through the whole damn forest if he had to.

If you were there, you would be right there by his side, gunning along with him to mount Javier’s head on a fucking spike.

Footsteps in the distance - barely audible over the sounds of the forest - made him freeze. He wasn’t sure at first, but then he heard it again; the unmistakable squelch of mud beneath boots, no matter how well the owner of said boots was trying to hide it.

He shouldn’t have used his pistol on Barnes. Too much noise. His knife would have been smarter. Slower, but smarter.

Didn’t matter now.

Just meant another fight.

Another body added to the count.

Krauser drew that aforementioned blade with his left hand, holding his pistol in his right. He couldn’t see whoever it was nearing him. And it was certainly a who . No zombie that Krauser had ever seen could hide the sound of their footsteps so well. He wasn’t as alone as he thought, then. Unfortunately for whatever bastard decided he was going to try and interrupt that solitude. So, the Major pressed his back against the tree at his side and listened. The footsteps were faint, but Krauser could hear them as they passed by the other side of that tree, slowly approaching him. He readied himself for a fight, craving that violence that might settle his soul a touch. He waited . . .

Then, nothing.

Nothing for several heavy seconds but the croaking and cawing of animals and chirping of insects.

Then, in a blur of movement, Krauser got his wish.

A gun trained on him. That was all the Major saw. A gun and the shape of a person holding it.

They both moved fast.

Krauser’s knife slashed out, arcing towards the assailant’s left arm. To their credit, they didn’t fire the pistol. Didn’t cry out as the knife cut into flesh. Not deep. Not enough to make them drop the pistol. The arm wove underneath the rest of his swing, but Krauser was already following through. His right hand, the one with the pistol, moved down, pressing against the armed hand. His knife, meanwhile, moved in a flash of silver forward.

And Krauser was damned glad that he stopped short of going for that kill when he saw the person behind the gun for the first time.

Not that relief was ever something he’d thought to feel when it came to seeing those pretty blues looking up at him.

“Son of a bitch,” Krauser hissed, bloodshot eyes widening.

As for Leon S. Kennedy . . . he looked like he hadn’t expected to be looking at Krauser at all. “Major . . .” the younger man breathed, slowly lowering his pistol in surrender, his too-perfect features twisted in an expression of utter shock. Krauser didn’t think it was just because of the blade at his throat.

A blade that the Major lowered after he was sure his rage-and-exhaustion-addled brain wasn’t playing some sick joke on him.

Or maybe it was the universe doing the joking, because he’d allowed himself to imagine you at his side for this suicide mission.

And the universe had sent your fucking boy toy instead.

Your boy toy who should have known better than to come at him in close quarters with a gun. “You’re lucky you didn’t need me dead, rookie,” Krauser growled, “because you’d never have been able to do it moving like that.”

Next Chapter

Chapter Index

A/N: Oh, Operation Javier, my beloved.

So, since I'm focusing on the Remake timeline, Operation Javier is different from what's depicted in Darkside Chronicles! Namely that Krauser had a team that he lost this time around, but Leon definitely seems to have still been involved. I was really curious as to how that all shaped up, so until Capcom gives us a more concrete timeline, here's my take on it! It will still definitely tie in a lot of events from the original, but will be adjusted to fit what I think might have happened to Krauser and Leon down there!

#jack krauser #jack krauser x reader #metaltango #jack krauser x leon kennedy #angst #resident evil #gender neutral reader #operation javier #between the bones #disavowed

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